


Mornings

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings are the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Bunny by Athenaps, donated to Mariah, stolen by me. For TNL.

When Joey wakes up, Lance is still asleep. His lover, curled up in blankets, arms wrapped around a pillow, always looks innocent and young while slumbering. Joey sometimes thinks he prefers this to Lance's waking masks, the faked smiles, the forced good humor. But it's never long before Lance's façade cracks, a real smile breaking through, and Joey's world is restored again.

On this particular morning, he's content to watch Lance sleep. It's bright in their bedroom, sun pulsing gently through the sheer curtains, and Lance in the rumpled white sheets reminds Joey of an angel: some Renaissance beauty, soft-skinned and dimpled, with rosy cheeks and a clear brow. Joey smoothes Lance's hair back, listening to his soft exhalations, watching his slack mouth move a little in an attempt to articulate dreaming words.

Feeling the call of nature, he gets up long enough to attend to priorities, then returns to the bed. The bedclothes are warm; Joey stretches, relaxing into them again with a comfortable sigh. Lance's mouth smacks closed a couple of times, and he moves suddenly, flinging out an arm as he rolls to his back. Joey catches the arm -- by now, he's well familiar with Lance's tendency to move abruptly -- and eases it down between their bodies.

Lance's eyes slowly open; he brings one hand up to rub at them as he yawns. "Morning," he murmurs, pressing himself against Joey's body.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Joey replies with a smile.

"Was dreaming about you," Lance mumbles into Joey's warm shoulder. A hand creeps over his waist, brushing at soft hair; Joey shivers.

"What did you dream?" he asks.

"Don't know. Somethin' 'bout... we were on a plane." Joey shivers a little; since that day in September, he and Lance have both had bad dreams, but Lance doesn't seem to be upset. Lance continues, drowsily: "But then it was, we were looking for a sandwich, and - I don't know. It was weird."

"Okay." Joey strokes Lance's back soothingly, large fingers lazy on Lance's spine, feeling the bumps and remembering when they were so much more prominent against the skin. Lance shivers a little, flesh warming under Joey's touch, and suddenly his mouth is hot against Joey's.

Something else is hot, too, and Joey rubs his thigh up against the swelling erection, smiling into the kiss. Lance's hand sinks into Joey's hair, and for a time they trade long kisses, both of them content to ignore morning breath and bedhead in favor of the sleep-warmed skin and trembling arms. Lance climbs slowly over Joey, matching heat to heat; Joey groans into Lance's mouth, then, when their erections grind together.

"So hot," Joey pants, as Lance makes his easy way down his lover's body, worshiping the wide shoulders, the broad chest, full stomach, laving Joey's smooth belly. Lance likes Joey the way he is, doesn't want him to lose weight, no matter how much Joey might protest that he needs to go on a diet. When Lance's mouth closes over the head of Joey's dick, Joey moans incoherently, grabs a fistful of sheets in one hand and his pillow in the other, and his hips shake with the effort to keep from fucking the heat of Lance's mouth.

Lance takes longer than usual, or maybe Joey's head is just swimming and he's lost track of time, because usually they stop so one of them can fuck the other, and Lance just keeps moving eager lips on him, keeps sliding that burning mouth on his slick shaft, free hand kneading Joey's balls until Joey roars and comes, filling Lance's mouth with ejaculate.

Licking his lips, Lance slides back up the sweat-dampened sheets, gliding moistly over Joey's slick body, smiling when Joey hands him a condom from the box on the bedside table. They share a salty, Joey-flavored kiss as Lance tears the package open, readying himself. He gropes to the table, finding lube; as he pushes Joey's thighs apart and reclines between them, he watches his lover's face.

Joey's eyes are closed, his mouth open a little, and his upper lip twitches in anticipation. Lance knows the feeling; his heart beats faster as he lubes his fingers, pushes two in without preamble. Joey jerks, subsides against the mattress again, groaning low in his throat. His legs are spread wide, and Lance loves the way Joey looks, spread-eagled on the bed, dark and hairy and his. Joey jerks again when Lance finds his prostate, strokes it, and this time the moan is needy and more or less his name.

He retracts his hand, already missing the tightness around his fingers; placing himself, he pushes in easily. The sudden powerful clench of muscle around his cock is nearly enough to make Lance come right there, but he bites the inside of his cheek, and the moment fades, passes, letting him brace himself easily over Joey's body, withdraw and push in again, and again.

Joey's feet remain planted flat on the mattress, giving Lance leverage for hard thrusts, the way they both like. One of Joey's hands presses against the small of Lance's back, his skin burning against Lance's spine; the other finds his own cock, still half-hard, and strokes it back to fullness. Lance's smile is tight, his breath harsh, and he speeds his thrusts as Joey pushes his head back and grunts -- "unh! unh! unh!" -- in rhythm, keeping the time.

Sometimes Lance wishes this could last forever, this feeling of being joined, fully connected to Joey, the way he can make the smallest movement and feel it ripple throughout Joey's body; the way Joey can touch him and it feels like fire, like he's burning up, and he's eager to be consumed by the flame. At the same time, he's eager for consummation, eager for the mindless sweep of orgasm, and he knows that when he's done Joey will roll them over and press him into the mattress and--

That's all it takes for Lance to come, stuttering out a cry of "Oh, _God_ , Joey--" as the delirious sensation rushes over him, leaving him limp and drained and helpless atop Joey. "Fuck," Lance pants, and as Joey takes hold of his shoulders and pushes him back, Lance gives a fleeting thought to how much he likes lazy Sunday mornings.


End file.
